On the 23rd of July, after putting glue and glitter all over the dog AND themselves, my toddlers brought dish soap into the bathtub. While I tried shampooing our white husky and cutting her hair, bubbly water went everywhere. I thought I'd lose my mind, but I breathed and things seemed okay, until yesterday.
Let's back up. If you're new here, you need to know something about me. I don't hide things. When I wanted implants, everyone knew. When I was depressed about my son's death--I even released a book about it. When I got in a big pretend-fight with my buddy--in front of a condemned house--we took pictures!
Check out Melynda HERE (on the left) and me doing the ballerina two-step (on the right). That's The Hippie (my middle daughter) up front.
And as I'm sure some of you noticed . . . I never got that boob job because we simply . . . can't afford it.
So, now that you know how shallow, sad, silly and upfront I can be--solely from these examples--I have to tell you yet another blatantly honest story about how animal activists can take things too far!
I went into a store yesterday. The Zomibe Elf zoomed around as I waited to pay for my items. He made an instant friend since kids are experts at doing that. They hollered together and I blushed with embarrassment. "Zombie! Stop screaming and . . . licking the cart. You aren't a dog."
The cashier's eyes perked with interest when I said the word 'dog.' That should have been the first sign that things headed to a dangerous place.
"How are you, Elisa?" she asked, scanning canned soup. "You're looking awfully frazzled."
Ummm . . . gee. Let's see why? The Zombie Elf's new friend suddenly clutched onto my leg while I tried hefting groceries from my cart. I looked back sweetly at his mother in a kind "get this leech off me or I might explode face"--unfortunately she didn't get the hint.
"I am frazzled." I clenched my teeth. "Last month, the kids put glue all over the dog--that was . . . exciting. Then today I didn't eat breakfast or lunch and was starving. I'd just made some boiling-hot soup and set it on the table when my two-year-old pulled the table cloth and the soup fell in my lap!"
"Oh. My. Gosh," the cashier gasped. "Is the dog okay?"
What the hell! Is the DOG okay! The dog . . . who gets pampered and loved all freakin' day? She gets naps--actual naps. And treats! She got a lovely glitter makeover in July, then a bath and a massage. A haircut and a rubdown. What I wouldn't do for all of that! Yet I get boiling soup dumped in my lap and God forbid--the dog got a spa treatment!!!
I fumed, "The dog . . . is fine."
The random child still held my leg and the mother's weak attempts at 'No Johnny. No.' weren't stern enough.
"Can you let go?" I said in such a high voice I'm surprised glass didn't shatter somewhere in the store. "Sweetie." Random child!
"I HATE my mother!" Johnny yelled up at me.
The Zombie Elf fisted his hands then, and put them on his hips. "Well this is my mother, buddy. Go find your own!"
The other boy let go and The Zombie Elf hugged me in his place. As we walked out of the store I had to giggle. Despite all the crap my four kids put me through as I'm trying to write novel after novel and have a successful career, kids sure make life interesting. I'm not resentful anymore--I'm glad the dog got a spa treatment and I'm glad God taught me a lesson about hot soup--when you have toddlers, it's best served cold.